Driving Eye

Bangkok Caught in a slip of particulars, say, between the dirt road and the brand-new Seven-Eleven, a bucket of lotus, three shades of red in the mudbank giving way to workers, faces hidden behind kerchiefs, binding the copper tines of another half-constructed building, this fretwork, that rooftop’s progress up and up, the eye riding a motor’s rev, coming to a woman who leans over the seventh story’s edge for the pulley rope’s basket of rice or rubber mallets, then a sweep down into cattle now, their beige skin over bones, the look of loose tents, or taking in a bronze Buddha, hands folded over the First National Melting Company, the red gate, black gate,red, retina arriving at a man throwing straw clumps to earth so the seeds don’t wash away, and the light behind him washing away, and this desire, a gaze shot along the border which is shaped like a question mark, cramped with hotels, pink neon grammars blinking Alpha, Alpha, Alpha Is The Bank For You And YourNeeds, another quick catch, the glance stippled with disappearances, a girl who lifts her skirt to bathe near the bus stop, a fire burning/burnt/burning in the field of bulldozers, an eye trying to fix itself as the vehicle turns, the mind from nascent to nation, drifting in instances, a grit in wind worrying the surface, the facts, out to finger the invisible gap we would inhabit, pulsing always in between.